Accident Prone
Upside down on a highway Broken glass beneath my fingertips I pull at my roots. Between windy screams I hear your voice splinter in zero degrees Clouds cut sharply the mountains by half I whisper, is...
View ArticleThe Editor
In silence I place your memories— Tiny paintings of melody Onto page It makes me calm. I cut away the pieces of loss you carry, hide them in a weathered music box that becomes lost in a mess of...
View ArticleFlight
I should have been an airplane carcass, Wing roots severed, tail cut away Body resting upon the ground An empty cavity, blue in death, is all that would remain. My belly would heave the memory of...
View ArticleFor Trey
Spring, this brassy procession from Winter to Summer lingers like early morning rain on branches. Quivering leaves drip apprehension, uneasiness in this change of season. Pale and drawn, Spring’s first...
View ArticleHeart Thief
We were once timeless. Standing arm-in-arm our shadows smoothed memory like water shaping rock. Love spilled from our tongues announcing the end of drought. Slick, we squirmed under each other’s grasp,...
View ArticleWinter Count
And so we begin our winter count. A month of moons, so slowly she creeps. Her replies are glacial. Withering red, the hips of roses Fall asleep in daytime. The panes of windows begin to leak, Letting...
View ArticleWhite Christmas
They told me to dream of a White Christmas. The one that catches in your lungs and just won’t let go. The one that renders the world into soft focus, like the muted stillness that covers the yard after...
View ArticleSpring
There’s emptiness in spring, Hollow feelings that pieces of you are missing— Pieces lost across such vast spans of time where no one ventured out. Shallow, your breath is stale. It quietly pushes your...
View ArticleMarginalia
You are the marginalia in my mind, lingering in corners, a slow dance at the end of the night. As though draped in fur, you carry such dead weight— cradling your loss as if it were alive. Only in the...
View ArticleHeart Hacks
This is for the hacks. For those ass poets who write THIS IS FOR poems. For the wake-up-put-on-a-little-makeup alarm I snooze five times a day. For the backspace. The backpedal. The back paddle. The...
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